#crosspost from x

[solxamber]

Kidnapped(?) - Malleus x reader

You were sick of the taxes imposed by the aristocrats in your already poverty stricken village. Your idea of a solution? Kidnap their young master , and make them reduce taxes as the ransom, of course. Only problem is that you went into the wrong manor and kidnapped the wrong young master.

crossposted from my ao3!

It’s far too late for a sane person to be awake, let alone breaking into an aristocratic manor, but here you are, perched atop a wrought iron fence. You inhale deeply, the cool night air doing nothing to calm the wild thudding of your heart. Sure, you’ve trespassed on fancy estates before—who hasn’t?—but this time, you’re aiming high. Really high.

Tonight, you’re going to kidnap the young master.

It sounded less ridiculous in your head, but the village’s plight had pushed you this far. Unfair taxes, people going hungry, all thanks to the greed of the lord’s family holed up in their luxurious estate. Someone needed to stand up for the people. That someone just happened to be you.

You’d never kidnapped anyone before, but how hard could it be? Grab the rich guy, ask for a ransom—specifically, less ridiculous taxes—and stroll away like a hero. Easy.

The manor looms in front of you, all dark windows and dramatic architecture. It's almost too easy to slip past the guards. You start to wonder if they’re just really bad at their jobs or if this is some elaborate setup. Still, you can’t help but smirk. You’re so good at this, it’s almost criminal.

Well, it is criminal. But you know, details.

Inside, the place is eerily quiet. Every shadow seems to be watching you as you slink through the halls, making your way toward the young master’s room. You’ve heard the rumors—aloof, cold, basically allergic to feelings. Intimidating him into compliance? Piece of cake.

After a few minutes of creeping around like a ninja, you find a room with the door slightly ajar. A faint light flickers inside. Jackpot. You steady your breath, grip your very intimidating (okay, slightly makeshift) weapon, and push the door open.

Sitting at a desk, seemingly unfazed by your dramatic entrance, is the young master.

“Ah,” he says, turning slowly to look at you. There’s a glimmer of... curiosity? in his eyes. “A visitor. How... unexpected.”

You blink. This is not going to plan. Where’s the panic? The yelling for help? The appropriate reaction to being ambushed at night?

Determined to salvage the situation, you wave your weapon and try your best "intimidating kidnapper" voice. “You’re coming with me! I’m here to kidnap you, and if you want to see your precious manor again, you’ll lower the village taxes!”

There’s a beat of silence.

The young master raises an eyebrow. “You’re kidnapping me? How... amusing.”

Amusing? You falter. “This isn’t a joke,” you insist, shaking your weapon for emphasis. “I’m serious! Ransom, taxes, starving villagers—ringing any bells?”

Instead of, say, panicking or fleeing, the young master stands up from his chair, all calm and composed, like this is a perfectly normal Tuesday night activity. “Very well. I suppose I should humor you.”

You blink again, utterly at a loss. “Wait... you’re just agreeing to this?”

“Of course.” He tilts his head, giving you a strange, intrigued look. “I’ve never been kidnapped before. It sounds rather... interesting.”

And just like that, he strolls toward the door as if this is his idea. You scramble to follow, wondering what exactly you’ve gotten yourself into.

As you lead him through the estate, you’re still grappling with the bizarre reality of the situation. Here you are, attempting to kidnap someone, and the guy is practically rolling out a red carpet for you.

“You know,” you mutter, glancing over at him, “most people don’t just let themselves be kidnapped. It’s not really how this works.”

He turns to you with a serene smile that’s entirely too pleasant for a hostage. “Why should I resist? You don’t seem the type to harm me.”

You narrow your eyes. Is he flirting? Intentionally or not, this guy’s nerve is off the charts.

“I didn’t catch your name,” he says suddenly, voice smooth as silk.

“I’m not giving my name to my hostage,” you snap back. This is Kidnapping 101.

“Ah, of course.” He nods, clearly amused. “Then I’ll introduce myself instead. I am Malleus Draconia.”

Your stomach drops to the floor. Malleus Draconia. THE Malleus Draconia. The name practically vibrates with power and danger, and you suddenly realize you’ve made a colossal mistake. You haven’t kidnapped the young master of the manor—you’ve kidnapped the prince of the fae.

“Oh no,” you mutter, horror creeping into your voice. “Oh no, oh no, this is bad. This is really bad.”

Malleus watches you with mild amusement, an eyebrow raised. “Why the sudden distress?”

You whirl on him. “You’re Malleus Draconia! I— I wasn’t supposed to kidnap you! This is a mistake—like, a huge mistake. I’ll just let you go and we can pretend this never happened, okay?”

But instead of looking concerned, Malleus just smiles wider, a wicked little gleam in his eyes. “Let me go? But I’m having so much fun.”

You gape at him. “You... want to stay kidnapped?”

“Indeed.” He seems completely unbothered by the sheer absurdity of the situation. “It’s been quite some time since I’ve had such an engaging evening.”

Well. This is officially the weirdest night of your life.

The night only gets stranger when you run into his retainers.

“Young Master!” a voice bellows, and you look up to see a tall, green-haired fae charging toward you, fury in his eyes. “What is going on here?!”

Before you can even explain, Malleus casually steps in. “Ah, Sebek. Allow me to introduce my kidnapper.”

Sebek freezes mid-charge, eyes wide. “Y-Your... kidnapper?!”

Malleus nods with an unnervingly calm smile. “Yes. Isn’t it wonderful?”

Sebek’s brain seems to short-circuit, and he storms off, shouting something about telling Lilia and Silver. You groan, burying your face in your hands. “This is a disaster.”

Malleus, of course, chuckles softly beside you. “On the contrary. I think it’s rather amusing.”

Of course he does.

By the time Lilia and Silver arrive, you’ve already resigned yourself to your fate. At least they’ll make your execution quick, right?

But Lilia just grins mischievously, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “Well, well. This is certainly the most interesting kidnapping I’ve seen in centuries.”

Silver, on the other hand, just raises a brow. “He seems to be enjoying himself.”

Malleus smiles at you, as though being abducted by a random stranger is the highlight of his week. “Quite.”

You’re about to protest when Malleus turns to his retainers with a firm nod. “I’d like to speak to my kidnapper alone.”

Sebek looks like he’s going to explode, but Malleus’s sharp glance shuts him up. Lilia throws you a wink as they all leave, and just like that, you’re alone with the fae prince. Again.

Malleus steps closer, his calm mask slipping just a little. “You know, I’ve grown quite fond of this little adventure.”

You blink up at him. “Are you serious?”

He tilts his head, lips quirking into a smile. “I propose a deal. I’ll help your village with the taxes. In return, you’ll... continue kidnapping me.”

Your jaw drops. “Wait... you want me to keep kidnapping you?”

“Yes. It’s been rather fun.” His eyes twinkle with amusement. “What do you say?”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “This is the weirdest deal I’ve ever made.”

Malleus grins, entirely too pleased with himself. “Wonderful. Now, shall we shake on it?”

And so, your bizarre, extremely non-traditional kidnapping arrangement begins.

Every few days, it’s the same: you sneak into his manor (more like casually walk in, since he always leaves the window open for you now), and the two of you embark on whatever adventure catches your whimsy. Sometimes it’s sneaking into human markets where Malleus marvels at the mundane—like street food or ridiculous trinkets. Other times, you explore abandoned castles with winding, forgotten hallways that echo with untold stories.

It’s almost normal now, the way he expects you to “abduct” him with little more than a raised eyebrow and a soft chuckle as you half-heartedly demand his presence for another outing. The most feared prince of the fae is now, apparently, your willing partner in crime.

The first time you take him to a local fair, though, you realize just how out of his element he truly is. Malleus spends a good twenty minutes, completely entranced, watching a cotton candy machine.

“Is it... magic?” he asks, his (very pretty) eyes locked onto the swirling pink clouds as the vendor twirls the sugary fluff onto a stick.

You can’t help but laugh, the sound coming out far more amused than you intended. “Nope. Just sugar spun into fluff. You’ve really never seen this before?”

Malleus watches the process with a reverence usually reserved for ancient relics, finally accepting the cotton candy as if it’s some kind of delicate treasure. He takes a cautious bite, his expression lighting up like a child’s.

“Incredible,” he murmurs, his voice filled with awe. “It dissolves on the tongue.”

You bite back another laugh at the sight of this powerful fae prince, someone who commands fear from almost everyone around him, completely taken by spun sugar. “Glad you like it.”

After that, it’s a night of him eagerly trying every strange, sticky fair food he can find, utterly fascinated by things as simple as corn dogs and funnel cake. You can't decide if it’s endearing or a little embarrassing, but either way, you’re having more fun than you’ve had in a long time.

As the weeks pass, the more you look forward to your little "kidnapping" escapades, and that in itself is a whole other problem. Malleus’s wide-eyed curiosity about the human world is... strangely adorable, and while he’s still every bit the regal fae prince, there’s something endearing about the way he asks you questions about everyday things with such genuine interest. He’s surprisingly easy to talk to, his quiet intelligence making for great conversation—when he’s not completely sidetracked by things like human street food.

The more time you spend with him, the harder it becomes to ignore the truth creeping up on you. You’re starting to fall for him. It’s ridiculous, and yet... here you are.

Of course, not everything goes smoothly.

“Human!” Sebek shouts dramatically one afternoon as you and Malleus return from yet another outing. “How dare you abduct the Young Master again!”

You roll your eyes, half-expecting this by now. “Sebek, I’ve told you before. He wants me to kidnap him.”

Sebek bristles, sputtering indignantly, his green hair practically standing on end. “Lies! The Young Master would never allow—”

“Sebek,” Malleus interrupts, his tone calm, but with that unmistakable edge that immediately silences his retainer. “I went willingly. Again.”

Sebek’s jaw drops, looking like someone just told him the sky isn’t blue. “But... Young Master...”

Malleus gives him a slow, deliberate look, his lips curving into a faint, almost predatory smile. “You should try it sometime. You may find it... enlightening. Although,” he turns to you, his voice soft but with an unmistakable possessiveness, “you’ll have to find another human. This one is already mine.”

Your breath hitches as Malleus’s words hang in the air, and you can't help but feel your heart skip a beat. Sebek, meanwhile, looks utterly scandalized, his eyes wide as saucers. Lilia, who has been watching the whole thing with far too much amusement, claps Sebek on the back.

“Don’t look so shocked,” Lilia chuckles. “Let them have their fun.”

Sebek looks like he's about to explode, but instead storms off, muttering something about propriety, while Silver smirks quietly from the sidelines.

One night, after another "kidnapping," you find yourself sitting beside Malleus on a hill overlooking the village, the faint glow of the fair still visible in the distance. The stars hang bright overhead, and there’s a soft stillness between you as the cool air nips at your skin.

Malleus’s voice breaks the quiet, low and thoughtful. “You’ve given me more than I expected.”

You glance at him, curious. “What do you mean?”

He turns to you, his dark eyes holding a depth you hadn’t seen before. “Companionship. I hadn’t realized how much I longed for it until... until you.”

Your heart does something funny at his words, the raw sincerity of them tugging at something deep inside you. Without thinking, you reach out, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face, your fingertips grazing his skin. The air between you seems to still.

“I’ve grown... quite fond of you,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable.

You swallow, feeling your pulse quicken. “Malleus, I—”

But before you can find the words, Malleus leans in, his eyes never leaving yours, and you feel the warmth of his hand gently cup your cheek. The world seems to fade away as you both hover there, caught between anticipation and something more.

“I do believe,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your skin as his eyes darken with something you can’t quite name, “that I’m falling for you, my little kidnapper.”

Your heart stutters, and before you know it, you’re closing the space between you, your lips meeting his in a soft, tentative kiss. For a moment, everything else ceases to matter—no fair, no adventures, no strange arrangements. Just the two of you, finally giving in to the pull that’s been drawing you together for weeks.

When you pull back, breathless, Malleus smiles, and it’s the softest, most genuine smile you’ve ever seen from him. “Does this mean,” he says, his voice still low and teasing, “you’ll continue kidnapping me?”

You laugh softly, feeling the warmth of his words settle deep in your chest. “I suppose I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”

Malleus grins, his fangs glinting in the moonlight. “No, I suppose not.”

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

This is my first time posting here so i have no idea what i'm doing and the formatting is probably off because i'm on mobile but i'll slowly figure it out.

Masterlist

[altariartx]

he's doing his very best ✨

[xlillyle]

I'm really in love with the idea of teen SKK falling for each other in mundane moments because the world they live in is so crazy and filled with violence and death that when Dazai breaks into Chuuya's apartment on their day off and finds him finishing cooking his favorite crab meal he can't help but feel like struck by lightning as he stares at the two plates that Chuuya already put out.

But the craziest thing is how while he is surprised by the fuzzy feelings, they don't feel unfamiliar.

Not in the way that he was in love before, he wasn't, but because it feels so normal to look at Chuuya and be filled with warmth and smiling like an idiot.

(Obviously, he has to complain about there not being enough crab and the slug's table being chibi-sized to make up for it.)

But Chuuya isn't any better even if it takes him a little longer, he feels even more ridiculous with it because there shouldn't be anything endearing about waking up next to the damn mackerel in his own bed when he went to sleep alone last night.

And yet he knows that he still had his work clothes and shoes on, but Chuuya is only wearing socks and not his coat anymore and his blanket is put over him so that he isn't freezing and he thinks suddenly that maybe he could get used to this.

The thought hits him like a train and he sits up in shock and while it's stunning him, it also feels like he is reading an old book he forgot in the back of his shelf.

The feelings flooding through his veins aren't new, he couldn't say when they became so familiar, but they feel as natural as the blood within him.

(Obviously, he has to kick Dazai out of his bed and yell at him.)

I just love the idea that they both fell for each other silently and got so used to loving each other that it was as natural as breathing to them, but it sneaked up on them one day in an innocent moment of idyllic domesticity in this violence-filled world they are navigating through.

[lakes-writting-rambles]

Out Of Choice, But Not Out Of Reach - #1 Inevitabilities And Such Unfortunate Things

words:2889

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Sometimes your destiny is completely out of your hands – Danny Fenton couldn’t seem to find a way to avoid learning that lesson. First; when he was shot when Slade invaded the headquarters of the League, and subsequently his family, was using, while the fight between Slade and Grandfather was going on, he used the chaos to get to the Lazarus Pit before he bled out; a second time when he died in that godforsaken portal; the most prevalent one was definitely his first meeting with Clockwork, there he noticed that it doesn’t matter how hard you try, if it isn’t meant to be, someone will interfere. It doesn’t mean he won’t still do things as before, but now there’s forever the dread of knowing.

It’s been about a year since what he, Jazz, Sam and Tucker dubbed “The Dan Incident”, and Danny can't seem to stop thinking about it. Well, not really about Dan, no, but about Damian. He can’t stop thinking about how Dan likely ended up killing Damian – it’d be inevitable, and, considering the state the future he had been shown was in, he hoped Damian went early on, really, he also hoped it was quick, like he tried to do when he was in the League.

What really bothered Danny, though, was that he couldn’t help but wonder if staying with the Fentons even was a good idea at this point. Surely he has learned that misfortune would follow him anywhere he went, so why wait for the shoe to drop? Before the accident, he was relatively safe to live the rest of his life in Amity, sure, it was kind of a deadend, but it was tranquil, so he couldn’t really complain. Now, though? He was in constant danger inside and outside his house, being half dead meant no place with the living and no place with the dead. He should leave while he still can.

The League isn’t likely to spot him, considering it’s been years since his “death” and he probably looks different enough from Damian now… which is something he’ll have to think about later. And the threats of dissection (vivisection?) by his parents keep increasing – he doesn’t want to fuck around and find out.

So, the League is probably not an issue anymore, staying seems to get more dangerous each day and he’s pretty sure most ghosts only come to Amity to fight him.

Nevertheless, running away also came with a plethora of problems, for one: leaving Jazz and his friends. When he got adopted into the Fenton household he tried not to get attached to anyone. He couldn’t keep that up for long, as a touch starved 9 year old that came from a violent background and got thrown into a very loving family. First, he got attached to his parents, then Jazz, Tucker, and finally, Sam. He doesn’t regret it, not one bit, but it might make this choice hard to make – since the easiest way to run away would be to fake his death and forgo any contact with everyone from his old life. Maybe they’d know he wasn’t (fully) dead, maybe they’d just be extremely miserable, he wouldn't know. 

Another issue is that he’s the current Ghost King, and oh boy doesn’t that complicate things? He keeps getting more powerful, which means keeping his cover is getting harder – an unsettling and overpowering aura surrounds him now, and sure, it reacts to other people’s emotions as well as his own, which in theory should make it easier to hide, since everyone in Amity seems to have differing opinions on his two  personas, but the fact that his aura is big enough that others take notice is concerning enough on its own; he’s control over his abilities needs to be impeccable or he risks getting found out; and he’s pretty sure some of his more ghostly traits are beginning to bleed over into his human form. He also needs stable access to a portal, since he needs to take at least two trips per month to the Ghost Zone so he can check over things with Clockwork and parade around to remind the citizens of the realm that he is their king; he can’t officially take over since he’s still alive, once he’s entirely dead he will, but for now the observants act as regents and that’s more than fine by him.

And third: he’s not really sure where he should go. You’d think Gotham would be his first option because of his father, but he has too much media presence, so Danny’d be brought to the spotlight. Does anyone in Amity care about Gotham? Not that he knows of. But it’d still be too big of a risk. Plus, Tucker really wants to work in Wayne Enterprises in the future, he’s sure that it’d become a problem in no time.

So… what to do? Money isn’t a problem, since he has access to all the treasure hoarded by Pariah Dark over the centuries, but that’s not all he has to consider. He needs some sort of safety net, that much is obvious, and since he won’t be able to count on his regular support system, he should fall back on his blood.

Maybe he could go to Blüdhaven? It’s close enough to Gotham that he can go there if he somehow needs to come into contact with someone from his biological family but not enough that he’d be immediately clocked… but then there’s Nightwing… as long as he doesn’t get  into any trouble it should be fine, right? It’s not like there’s a city without a hero nowadays… Urgh, nevermind, he’ll come back to these thoughts later, he’d rather not spend his rare moment of peace coming up with what to do after he fakes his death.

Sometimes fate decides that things should be ultimately out of your hands – but Damian Al Ghul Wayne fights with all his might to avoid such a thing becoming a rule in his life. When he came to live with his father, around 7 years ago, he held out hope that his twin had made it and would eventually return to his side. That never happened. And now Damian isn’t sure how to approach the topic of Danyal with his family, so he just… doesn’t. Even after all this time, it feels wrong to keep the memory of Danyal to himself, he should be celebrated, even if his death was premature and almost a decade has passed.

Danyal had died the same day as Grandfather, which is why his grief isn’t questioned –, even if the Bats are well aware of his distaste of his Grandfather’s actions, now that he’s recognized them for what they were. Damian isn’t sure if it’ll ever come to pass, because in quiet moments like this, he thinks of what could have been.

His twin was never needlessly violent, and his killings were virtually a mercy, compared to the others in the LoA, even himself. Maybe he would have adapted faster than Damian did, maybe he would have made a better Robin, maybe they would still wake up together and share little moments of quiet.

It’s all speculation, all it will ever be. They never found his body, but even now, years later, the image of his pierced chest is burned between the other twin’s eyes, it wasn’t likely to survive a wound like that, and even if he did, the bloodloss would’ve killed him regardless. But to a 9 year old, the what ifs often overshadow reality, which is why Damian had kept his hopes up, afterall, one of the many teachings of the League was that “if there isn’t a body then one should always consider the possibility of the victim having survived”. But now, at 16, he could see it for what it was, the foolishness of a child longing for what is gone – he’ll never admit it, but in the darkest, deepest and most hidden part of his heart, Damian still has a little bit of wonder, almost completely squashed, but a bit of hope of seeing his brother once again remains.

There’s no use for pondering at the moment, time doesn’t stop and soon one of his siblings will notice his absence at breakfast and come to pester him, thus he gets up and readies himself to face another hectic morning.

“If I were to go missing, where would you search for me first?” was not a question Tucker was ready for, like, at all, but especially at two in the afternoon on a saturday. Danny hadn’t been the same since that thing with Dan or whatever they had dubbed it, he didn’t change much, but he seemed to get lost in thought more frequently, and Tucker didn’t blame him! Really! But man, what went through his head was morbid at times, and he maybe shouldn’t voice those out of nowhere.

— Uhh I guess… your parent’s basement? — awkward silence fills the air, it’s the most obvious answer, but not a thing they normally consider outloud. A grimace crosses Danny’s face for a second.

— No, I mean, if I …ran away. — he says, and there’s some hesitancy. Obviously, there’s more to the question, but Tucker can’t for the life of him figure out what it could be.

— I’d guess Wisconsin, since it’s close by and you might be able to rely on Vlad if push comes to shove, but that is not likely at all, — Sam starts before coming to a slight pause to think. — Maybe Missouri?

— Why…?

— Cause it’s close by, it’s not like we’d let you get far before going after you. — she smirks and gives his arm a little punch.

—  I think we’d find Danny in Florida, actually, — Tucker chuckles before continuing — it’s the only place where he wouldn’t stand out.

— Oh, screw you. — He says before he lunges at Tucker.

Sam watches for a bit, the conversation got to her more than it did to Tucker. She decides that now isn’t the time to worry about it, she doesn’t think Danny would leave them behind without saying anything, not after all they’ve been through, but it did leave a sour taste in her mouth. To stop herself from spiraling down a rabbit hole, she jumps – literally jumps – into the struggle. 

That is how the three friends end up scratched all over, with dirt and grass stuck to their clothes and silly smiles on their faces, looking up at the sky as the clouds pass by. Moments like this used to be common, but with the chaos that is Amity Park nowadays a chance to just relax and joke around as friends seems more and more like a luxury.

Their peace is interrupted when Danny sighs, a defeated sigh that usually comes after his breath fogs – which means there is a ghost nearby. A shout ruptures the quiet and kills any hopes for the rest of their afternoon.

— BEWARE! I AM THE BOX GHOST!

— Alright, — he gets up and stretches. — Just wait for me, I’ll be back in a sec.

Sam and Tucker look at each other, worried glances on both ends – they didn’t even need to say anything. Things will never go back to the way they were before, that is something all three know intimately. Danny died. Everything they have witnessed is bound to leave some sort of mark as well. And there are the Fentons. Sam and Tucker knew Danny and Jazz loved their parents, but at this point it seemed inevitable that someday they’d turn on Danny, and it seems that even if he doesn’t talk about it, it’s also something he believes.

It feels unfair, Danny seemed to have come from a bad background and was settling into his own skin and fully letting his guard down for what felt like the first time before the accident. And wasn’t that heartbreaking? He’d adjusted to the life in Amity early on, but to actually enjoy himself? That took some 2-3 years, and to trust that he could always rely on the people around him? It had just started happening into the beginning of their ninth grade. Then the portal opened and he had to put some of those walls back up to protect himself, not just emotionally, but physically as well. Now, they’re in 11th grade, they should be looking for colleges and studying for entrance exams, but instead, Danny is thinking of running away.

They know how their friend thinks at this point, and it’s undeniable they’ll likely have to say goodbye soon.

Dealing with the Box Ghost wasn’t hard, but it sure was annoying. After the fight (if you could even call it that) ended he went back to Sam and Tuck, they laid on the grass for a while longer, ultimately, they got hungry and headed to the Nasty Burger and ate before parting ways.

Danny plops face first into his bed. Well… he could have approached that with more subtlety. Maybe it was his subconscious trying to get them to look for him, or something, to prepare them for his absence. That sounds too close to something Jazz would say…

He turns around, putting his arm on his forehead. His thoughts keep getting away from him, always back to Damian – would he have liked Amity Park? Probably not, if he was being honest with himself. He couldn’t even see himself liking it there when he arrived – in fact: He had hated it. The city was so calm it felt forced, the Fentons so loving it felt like a trap, the kids lacked any malice at all, everything screamed danger at him, like he was about to be ambushed. Nothing ever came to that, just a nice, cozy, little town. 

Well, until the portal opened, that is. 

He stops and just looks at his ceiling for a bit, the old glow in the dark stars already discolored and lacking any actual functionality, there was no reason for them to remain there but the attachment to what they used to be, kinda like him. There was no escaping his current reality. No escaping his need to desert this city, this family, this life. 

Danny sits up and looks around his room, which for the last few years had become his safe haven. He looks at the stained carpet, marked by his many sleepovers with Sam and Tuck, he looks at his ceiling fan, that was cracked from the time the trio had tried to recreate the solar system on it, he looks at his closet, his posters, his desk, everything that was proof of the life he had lived here.

He needs some water and something to eat before setting his plan up.

As he heads down the stairs to the first floor he hears his mother’s soft voice coming from the kitchen.

— Oh Jack, I’m so worried about Danny, — the phrase startles Danny, he turns invisible and intangible, floating a bit so as to not make any sound, — his ecto-contamination has only gotten worse over the years… how can we be sure he’s okay?

— Honey, I’m sure Danno is fine! He must be building up resistance!

— But what if… what if it’s fusing to him? What if there’s no reversing this? — His mom is chewing on her lower lip, clearly distressed. 

At the sight, his dad softens up and hugs her, his voice comforting as he speaks, — We’ll make sure he’s fine, Maddie. We might not know what happened, but we know each other and we know what we’re doing, we’re experts in our field. 

Danny can’t stay there anymore, they know he has ecto in his system and they know it’s getting worse. They know and they want to “fix” him. He’s completely and utterly fucked. 

Alongside his nervousness there is also newfound resolve. He quickly phases into his room, grabs his thermos, maybe two shirts and a pair of pants, he shoves it all inside an old backpack he hasn’t used in years. He will need to dispose of his phone, taking anything electronic with him will leave a trail and he can’t have that. Hopefully his parents don’t have his ecto signature yet, he doesn’t think he has the time to get rid of it if they do.

He checks the kitchen again, they aren’t there anymore, likely back in the lab, then. He has to leave through the front door, to not raise any suspicions. Now, how to make this realistic? Maybe he can fake being murdered? No, Amity doesn’t really have that type of violence. Maybe he can fake being a casualty in a ghost attack? But he’d have to damage public spaces to do so and he doesn’t want to endanger anyone else… Fake getting kidnapped? It wouldn’t be the first time it happened, even as a human.

He could also just up and leave. It’s not like Amity has any actual investigative police force… Maybe he’s complicating things too much. He needs to go before he has time to chicken out. His parents will probably make a move on his ecto contamination within the week and he can’t be there for that.

— Bye mom, dad, be back in a bit! — and so, he shuts the door – leaving his house for what will probably be the last time.

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Inevitabilities And Such Unfortunate Things > Those We Leave Behind

AO3

[umathurwin]

maybe we could share my mood

rafe cameron x f!reader; nsfw 18+

Summary: Rafe is gonna have a hard time wedging his way into the world of art dealing when his girlfriend is such a horny brat at the worst times. Maybe he'll have to teach her a lesson...

tags, warnings, and more on ao3!

Your hands flew to your elbows the second you heard the air conditioning in the gallery turn on again. Seriously? It had to be below 65 degrees at this point. The minidress you found in your closet was a great idea outside, but the second you realized that this place was apparently a large refrigerator for the artwork displayed, the regret kicked in.

The worst part was Rafe had definitely told you to take a coat before you left. “Take that fake fur Sarah got you last Christmas. It would look great with that dress,” he’d insisted, clearly having been to this gallery before. But you didn’t listen, instead waving him off, grabbing your small purse and heading out.

So when he noticed you shivering and clutching yourself, his eyebrow shot up. “Not giving you my jacket,” he denied before you even opened your mouth, already seeing the request written on your face.

You played through the argument in your head—you would whine, and he would stand his ground with a stern face because no matter how much he loved you and would do anything for you, he wouldn’t lose an argument like this. There was no use in starting with him, so you just inhaled through your nose slowly. “Then how much longer are we gonna be here?”

His mouth tightened. “We just got here. It’s really important to my dad that we come here and make a good impression since he wants to get into the art business.”

“I’ve literally never heard him say a good thing about the art world.”

“It’s to help launder the gold money,” he muttered, glancing around.

You sulked, shifting your weight around on your feet and lulling your head to the side. “Like our cocaine intake isn’t doing a good enough job of that already,” you mumbled.

Rafe lifted an eyebrow, but a little smile peeked through his serious expression. “You try explaining that to Ward.”

The air conditioning unit finally shut off again, leaving only the sound of the chatters echoing around the marble floors. You lifted your shoulders. “Whatever, let’s get this over with.”

His face twisted in confusion at your attitude but he didn’t say anything, mainly because you two were joined by a man you recognized as the curator who greeted you upon arrival. He’d been considerably polite when Rafe introduced you, considering you were not adequately dressed for the weather inside.

“Stanley, hello again,” Rafe smiled, nodded and wrapping his arm around your waist. “You mentioned something earlier that my father had interest in. Do you mind showing us?”

“Not at all! This way,” the curator gestured to another room in the gallery. “It is an authentic DiPont, donated to us by the Arnault family,” Stanley explained, leading the two to a work on the wall.

“Do you mean DuPont?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I do not.”

And yeah, he didn’t. The work on the wall was not from British artist Gainsborough Dupont, but some entirely different person likely using his name’s likeness to the more famous painter in his favor. “What do you think?” he asked, very pointed towards you.

Frankly… it was hideous. The painting was massive and abstract and filled with clashing colors like burnt orange and fuchsia and periwinkle. The lines were disruptive, and the ornate gold trim around the mess wasn’t well-matched to itself. It was too large to reasonably display anywhere in a home even if some color blind person found interest in the mess. Your mouth dropped open to find something nice to say about the work, but you blanked. You had to lie.

“It’s beautiful,” you mustered up, waving your hand around as the men stared at you, but nothing more came to mind.

The curator was unfortunately more clever than you planned for. He detected your insincerity, nodded curtly, and stepped away from the two of you.

Apologies spilled out of your mouth but Rafe was already turning and pulling you to a corner, your sandals nearly scuffing the floor trying to keep up with him.

“What is wrong with you?” he spat, tightening his hands into fists once appropriately in the corner away from the others.

“Babe, that painting was disgusting,” you defended, tilting your head to one side. “I’m sorry! I tried to be nice!”

“Well, you have to try better than that,” he scolded, folding his arms across his chest.

Wow, he was attractive. His biceps were getting bigger, you noticed, ever since he’d started working out more with Topper. Even now, they dared to split the seams of his nice dress coat’s sleeves. His reprimanding look made you feel so small, and the twitching of his jaw certainly didn’t help. Fuck, why was your boyfriend so damn hot at the worst times? Thoughts of him pulling at your hair when you misbehaved in the past popped into your brain, and you had to cross one leg over the other to help calm down. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice how hot and bothered you were getting just from this slightly chastising gaze.

Rafe definitely noticed. “S’wrong with you?” he asked, scanning up and down your body. “Are you…?” The pieces assembled themselves in Rafe’s brain and his entire demeanor shifted. “Oh, you’re just a little slut, huh?” his voice was low, but the smirk tugging at his lips showed he was nothing if not proud of himself. “I fucked you this morning. That wasn’t enough?”

Your cheeks burned bright, but you didn’t wanna lose like this, not in public. “Apparently not, hmm?” you bit, rolling your eyes—something that annoyed the hell out of him.

He straightened his body, scanning around presumably to see if anyone was watching them. Once the coast was clear, he clutched your elbow again and whisked you to the back. Two identical, gender-neutral lavatories sat nestled in an alcove facing each other, and Rafe shoved one of the doors open like it were weightless, pulling you both inside.

In terms of quality, there was no transition between the gallery and the restroom—it was just as gleaming and polished as the rest of the building. The chatter of the art-goers was completely silenced when the heavy door latched itself back in the hinge. You swallowed.

He let go of your elbow only to spin you around and bend you over the sink, keeping you there by the back of your neck. Your hands shot out to the counter to steady yourself as Rafe turned the tap on. There wasn’t time to be confused before he tugged the back of your dress up to expose your ass and ran his hand under the stream.

The painful collision of his wet, ring-clad hand and your flesh was terribly amplified by the water. The smack seemed even louder than normal echoing off the smooth marble lining the entire room. Air sucked into your lungs roughly and you fell to your elbows. Rafe didn’t rewet his hand, but hit the other side of your ass just a bit harder to elicit terrible swears from you.

“Watch your mouth, doll,” he warned, voice calmer than his actions would let on. After one more smack, he inhaled sharply. “Now, are you just acting out because you wanna cum?” His condescending tone told you he already knew the answer, and also that he wouldn’t continue until you confirmed it.

You nodded desperately, relishing in the way his fingers flexed around the back of your neck. “Yes, please, fuck. Please do something.”

He shook his head. “So pathetic. I make you feel good every day, I give you the best drugs, I buy you nice clothes, and you still want more. You still act like a brat when you need to fucking behave,” he seethed, giving one more slap on your ass before turning your body around. “It’s a good thing I love you, huh?” His eyes trailed down slowly. “Good thing I have so much to give, doll.”

You whimpered, now face-to face with him. You looked down to where he was unbuttoning his pants. “I’ll make you cum, sweetheart, but I go first. Since you were acting like that out there.”

Your head was bobbing while you dropped down to your knees, face to face with his boxers peaking from behind the zipper. You didn’t even bother with unzipping his pants, just tugging them down his hips enough to let his cock escape.

Now wasn’t the time to be messy. Your preferred method was sloppy, eyes watering your makeup across your face and drool dripping off your chin as you forced his member down your throat. Giving head was both you and Rafe’s favorite thing to do solely because of their partner’s fervor in the act.

But you couldn’t this time. As soon as you two were done in there, it was right back to fake smiles and faker appearances for a shot at buying an ugly fucking painting. So instead, you tried to be careful, sucking and licking on his cock without making yourself too much of a disaster.

He didn’t appear to have the same motives. Rafe held you down to the base of his cock, twisting his fingers even further into your hair. You’d be lucky if one of his rings didn’t get stuck like last time. Drool spilled out of your mouth to the floor, narrowly avoiding landing on and staining your dress. A teeny thrust from him pulled gags from you, and you had no choice but to push off him by his thighs.

He allowed this, but only because the sight of you wrecked with puffy, wet lips and pink cheeks was almost as good as being down your throat. He wiped at the inner corner of your eye where a big teardrop threatened to spill out.

“Mm, this is why it’s so hard to punish you,” he noted, throwing his head back as you sucked on the tip like candy. “You’re just—fuck—such a good girl. Gonna make me cum?”

Moving ever-so-softly, you nodded your head without taking him out of your mouth. You dropped all the way down to bury your nose in his pelvis, letting his cock slide as far down as it could reach. Rafe groaned, tugging on your hair again and fucking your throat until he came.

You didn’t taste a bit of it even as he pulled out of your mouth, leaving a thick string of spit connecting you and his cock.

“Alright, sweet girl, now you can have your turn.”

Rafe stood you up and leaned you back against the countertop. He yanked the hem of your dress up to your hips and pulled the thin fabric of your underwear aside.

He cupped your pussy in his hand, forcing a noise from the back of your throat. “Look at you. Haven't done a thing and you’re already whining for me,” he shook his head, tutting his tongue at you. The sound of his fingers sliding over your wet cunt made him smile. “Fuck. Can feel how swollen you are. Guess you weren’t lying about being horny.”

You shook your head. Most of your body weight had shifted to the counter behind you, as your legs were not gonna hold your body weight up for much longer. It felt pathetic, being reduced so quickly by almost nothing at all.

Rafe messily rubbed his first three fingers over your clit, stimulating you until your head was lulled back. He only stopped to dip his fingers into your wetness to make his movements easier. His other hand wrapped around your back to slide under your dress and play with your nipples, and that was just enough to send you over the edge.

You came, rushed and desperately on his digits and he talked you through it with the same smug, cocky words he’d been using on you all night. Your legs were trembling, but you just managed to stay upright as the slick noise of his stroking fingers rang in your ears.

Rafe had only needed a few moments to readjust his button-down and wash his hands. He’d already had time to settle down from his orgasm—more than you could say for yourself—so when you glanced up to him, his hair and clothes were as straight as they were when they came in.

He nodded down at you, still trembling, hair a fucking mess. “Meet you out in the gallery, sweetheart.” Rafe kissed your forehead and rejoined the people outside, leaving you to clean yourself up.

Well. A punishment’s a punishment.

[autisticalastor]

What are your Palia headcanons?

I'll go first!

Communicating across a server is just the equivalent of yelling as loud as you can. The villagers absolutely know we say disco deer. They still don't know what it means, though ("wtf is disco? what is a deer???")

They're also probably aware of PCs making references to regular Human stuff that they just don't have any concept of and they think we are very strange for this.

Hassian would listen to Sleep Token and he would love it. (Shoutout to the Tumblr user who's with me on this.)

If Jel was an actual person, he'd be the guy who's so cheerful with the general public, then he gets off work and goes to sit in his car and scream with heavy metal blasting.

Reth would give you stick and pokes if you asked, but you gotta give him one too.

The villagers are unaware we can track them on our maps and are a little freaked out how the Humans can always run right to them, no matter where they are and no matter what time of day or night.

Majiri straight up just don't need to sleep more than a couple hours and that's why their schedules are batshit fucking insane compared to Humans. Some of them do think we're lazy for how long we sleep lol

Jel has ADHD. Hassian and Reth are autistic. Sifuu also gets to be autistic because I like her. You'd think my reasonings here would mean Jina is also autistic, but actually, grad students are just like that.

The reason Einar seems to display less (negative) emotions than Hekla is because he actually just hasn't gone through anything that's made him feel that way before. Man has just always been Fine And Good.

Jel (I think about him a lot) has had relationships before the PC. You're not his first, but you are his best/favorite.

~Spencer

[querikoche]

Para pensar señiores

Translation in alt

[aemondsa]

“The fates are cruel to have led me to you—princeling, blood of the dragon, son of woe and strife. Before your time is out you will gorge on pain. You’ll lie with a serpent and drink from her poison, the taste of it sweeter than honey. She’ll bring you joy, or she’ll kill you, dark heart. The debt has not been paid and your fate is not set in stone.” — «witchcraft in your lips» by slaymond

♡ obsessed with my stunning commission of Aemondsa for my fic, from the incredibly talented @lonelymagpies 🩵🩷

[phoenixtakaramono]

🔞 ‘The Price of Milk’ Butchlander Threadfic 🥛

For Butchlander Week 2024, DAY 2 PROMPT: Milk

SUMMARY: Have you seen Karl Urban’s obscure New Zealand 2000 movie: The Price of Milk? That’s it; that’s the plot. The gist of this short 🔞 oneshot threadfic is Butcher has been working undercover as a devastatingly sexy but unremarkable dairy farmer, and the main twist is the handsome amnesiac “John” who’s been temporarily lodging with him “until he regains his memories” might be hiding a little secret of his own. I am agog that seemingly no one’s written this fever dream of an AU before, where Butcher’s actor is a literal dairy farmer and you got Homelander with his milk fetish?? …Very well. I volunteer as tribute!

(The rest of the threadfic can be read here!)

If you don’t have a Twitter account, I have screenshotted the rest of the spicy half below the line break:

A/N - Thoughts? Opinions? I'd love to hear them! Sorry for the somewhat abrupt ending but this was 67 tweets long when I'd originally planned around 25, haha. If I'd do anything differently, I think I'd keep Butcher's alias as "ordinary civvie dairy farmer who immigrated from England" when the lovers reunite. That way it's even more fun(ny) when the truth comes out that Butcher is actually a badass secret spy working for the US government.

I want y'all to know he goes from this 👨🏻‍🌾 ➡️ to this 🔪 (iiiiit's the contrast)

(Now that you’re done reading, you can read my other 🔞 “milk” threadfic here. They’re unrelated alternate universes.)

[lxmelle]

Who could’ve guessed...

That the strongest sorcerer of the modern era, who had power, strength, influence, money, looks, etc., who was short of nothing...

The Gojo Satoru, born with the six eyes and limitless, who could take everything at his feet for granted with his genius intellect & skill...

…would so carefully & meticulously find, follow & treasure fragments of his best friend - who, in his own grief & out of compassion for those around him, had thought that he had thrown away everything about himself by erasing his existence (killing his parents, leaving the jujutsu society & his beloved best friend)...

Who could’ve known Gojo could take the time to see through it, and cling loyally out of love like that; that he could be so sentimental, so earnest in his efforts, so ardent and so sincere in his love for one single person.

I’m so very glad Gojo saw Geto’s soul & recognised & treasured him for who he was.

No wonder Geto smiled from the bottom of his heart… It was as if Gojo responded to his love from back then.

Like a tribute to each other out of pure mutual love: Geto, who left him because he could not bear for Gojo to walk down the same path. And Gojo, who would not have minded if Geto did.

It’s rather obvious if we take the time to observe Geto’s mannerisms, both in the manga & anime, that his tone with Gojo (& others) was very different to that moment when he faced him at the KFC breakup.

He was very, very clearly signalling, “don’t come here”, looking absolutely forlorn & heartbroken about the situation. Despite his revelation & dream, he was objective yet emotional enough to leave Gojo behind & force them both to take opposing sides. As if to say, I love you more than I love myself and this crazy dream.

At his end… Knowing how Gojo understood him and loved him in spite of everything he had done, that even if he had thrown himself and Gojo away, Gojo had chosen to treasure these fragments of him - saving him & freeing him from the world.

So it’s no wonder that Geto came to pick him up when he died... little did Gojo know, Geto also treasured him in the same way all this while and didn’t want to be reborn.

He wouldn’t let Gojo die alone - not if he could help it.

That’s how I interpret it anyway.

It was Gege’s Salvation for them. After all they suffered...

[c0smicdaisy]

#SANDRAY : "i love you" ain't that the worst thing you ever heard?

Only Friends The Series

[littlepikmins]

Reasons Magna would call Luck pet names when they start dating! He already likes giving him cute names and with the way he talks (ie "home run, baby") he'd most likely enjoy calling Luck baby and babe

[altariartx]

oh the things i'd do for an emotional support dream

[xlillyle]

Married SKK hc where Dazai wants to stay up until Chuuya comes home, but even their couch is so stupidly comfy that he ends up falling asleep (he sleeps so much more since he is with Chuuya).

So Chuuya comes home to his husband curled up like a cat on said couch and his chest fills with warmth as he picks Dazai bridal-style up and murmurs, “Stupid mackerel, why didn’t you go to our bed.”

And Dazai wakes up, but is sleepy and Chuuya’s arms are warm, so he just wiggles closer to him in his arms and nuzzles his face into the crook of his neck. “Chibi’s the stupid one, I can’t sleep without my ugly slug.”

And Chuuya snorts and rolls his eyes as he carries Dazai to their bedroom, asking, “And what were you doing just now, dumbass?” Dazai is too fuzzy and sleepy to keep up their bickering; instead a soft “Waiting for Chuuya.” slips out.

And Chuuya smiles just as softly and presses a kiss on Dazai’s forehead. “I’m here now.”

[artisan-king-morleus]

IM FINALLY DONE WITH IT

LOOK HOW BEAUTIFUL SHE IS!!!